The Wammy Diaries: Mail Jeevas
by Laerkstrein
Summary: Mail Jeevas left the world as an unknown criminal and sinner in the eyes of Kira and his followers. But a record has been found. A record that tells the story of a young man who gave his life to help bring an end to the Kira Case.
1. A Rough Start

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Death Note, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**The Wammy Diaries: Mail Jeevas**

**Chapter 1: **A Rough Start

**A/N: **From the moment he appeared in _Death Note, _Matt has been my favorite character, as well as one who didn't get enough time in the series. So, I've composed my own interpretation of what Matt's life was like.

* * *

Why I am writing this, I am not sure, but understand that the purpose of my notes are not to entertain, but to preserve my memory of childhood after I have long left this world. Although, like most people, I am unsure as to the exact time I will perish, I feel that I shall cease to exist in the near future. Assuming these premonitions of mine are correct. And that alone, I suppose, is reason enough for me to continue.

Though I highly doubt that anyone will remember me after I die, I am the eagle-eyed prodigy and third runner-up to succeed the world-famous detective known as L. I am Mail Jeevas.

I really don't remember much about my life before I arrived at Wammy's House, but I remember enough to assure you that it wasn't perfect. Since I was abandoned at a young age, I vaguely remember my parents at all. But I suppose that "abandoned" isn't the proper term in this case, as my parents were wonderful people. There's little I know of them, aside from their names and fragments of their faces, but they were snatched away from me far too quickly.

I was about four years old when I found myself alone in the world, and I know I was terrified. At the moment of my parents' untimely deaths, I remember we were walking out of a restaurant somewhere in Los Angeles. A typical family dinner. At least, that's how I imagine it went. A rambunctious little boy, far too excited to eat. A mother, trying to calm her son down. A father, doting upon him, insisting that he get to have a little fun before dinner. It seems like such a perfect scene, so, even if it isn't accurate, that's what I've come to believe.

It was dark out, cars whizzing by as I was led by the hand, struggling to keep my eyes open until we reached the car. My father hadn't even unlocked the doors when a man armed with a pistol began barking at us, commanding that both my parents relinquish their wallets and other valuables to him.

From what little information I've found from people who knew my parents, my father was a calm, level-headed fellow who worked at a local law firm as a well-renowned attorney. My mother, on the other hand, was the most wonderful woman I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, though she managed our home with a firm hand. With her, I got away with very little. I suppose that short time helped make me strong.

That night, I think my father attempted to reason with the man, as did my mother. Unwilling to relinquish his decision, the man continued to restate his demands, drawing nearer to my father with the gun poised before him. I remember tha my mother urged me to hide beneath our car and stay quiet so as to prevent our attacker from seeing and harming me.

Only moments after I had hid myself, I heard the frightening sound of a gunshot. Now, to those of you who have never heard one, I pray you never do. Especially under circumstances such as this. It's... chilling, really. I turned my head, and saw my father lying on the ground staring at me. With his last breath, he reached for me, and it was then I saw the life leave his eyes. Another one sounded, and my mother fell as well. She, too, looked at me with a smile, and quietly said, "I love you, darling. Don't ever forget that."

It was only then that I realized that my loving parents, Drew and Annie Jeevas, had been shot down in cold blood right before my very eyes. Being as young fragile as I was, there was little I could do but lie in wait until the killer fled the scene.

I crawled out from beneath my parents' car just as people began flooding from the restaurant to see what all the noise had been about. I crawled to my mother's side, staring into her still face as a crowd began to form. Before I realized it, I had wrapped my arms around her, only to begin crying my eyes out. I didn't register that there was blood staining my shirt, and I didn't care.

I have no idea how long I sat there with them, begging, pleading, and crying for them to come back to me, but I soon found myself being pulled away by a set of strong, gentle hands. I remember one of the police officers saying, "There's nothing you can do, son. They've moved on."

It was only then that I knew, at four years old, that I was truly alone in the world.

In the short time that followed my parents' murder, I was placed in numerous foster homes, only to be sent back to the orphanage in Los Angeles because I was "too quiet" or "too strange." I must have spent about a year at that horrible institution, being beaten and tossed around by older boys, before I came into contact with the famous inventor, Quilsh Wammy.

I was sitting in my room, staring at my parents' picture when one of the several student volunteers came in and told me I had a visitor. I blatantly ignored her, turning my back so I could face the corner by my bed. She came up behind me, sat down, and held me close.

"Come on, honey," she said. "There's a very kind gentleman who's waiting to meet you."

Reluctantly, I took her hand, their picture in my pocket, and followed her to the meeting room. When she opened the door and led me inside, I immediately spotted the kindly old man dressed in a black suit sitting at the table. The very instant I made eye contact with him, he stood and approached me, kneeling down and offering me his hand.

"Hello, son," he said. "My name is Mr. Wammy. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

I took his hand and shook it as best I could before narrowing my fierce little eyes and demanding, "What do you want with me?"

He smiled gently and reached inside his suit coat to pull out a flyer. "This," he said, pointing to the building on the flyer, "is Wammy's House. It's an orphanage for gifted children all over the globe. And I'd like to offer you a home there, if you're interested."

"Why me?"

I was confused. I couldn't understand why or how I would belong in such a place. Besides, I didn't think that I was all that gifted to begin with, despite what my parents had always told me. But that had been their opinion, not mine. After all, I'd been through hell already, and people had been telling me more and more that I wasn't fit to be in with normal society.

Mr. Wammy smiled again. "My boy, I've heard great things about you. The director of this institution is a very good friend of mine, and he's done nothing but insist that you are the most gifted child he's seen, and that you should be in a place that will benefit your abilities."

After thinking it through as best I could at the age of five, I agreed. I didn't want to be in Los Angeles anymore, anyway. Especially not after I had lost everything I had within that marvelous city. To me it really was a "city of angels." I just kept waiting for my parents, clothed in white, to show up at my window one night. Maybe, I thought, they would take me away.

The following morning, Mr. Wammy arrived and signed a number of papers before taking me by the hand and leading me out to his car. As we drove through the streets, I stared sadly out the window, perplexed that I was actually going to be free from the city that had become a part of my nightmares and fondest dreams.

_Finally, _I thought. _I'm finally free. I never have to come back here again._ I pressed my hand against the window. _I swear, I'll make you both proud of me. I'll live a life that we can all be proud of... _

* * *

I love how this came out. I've always wondered what Matt was like as a child and how he came to be the character we know from the series. Now I'm proud that I have my own interpretation of who he was before he died. Of course, as the story progresses, I'm going to try to stay as true to the character from the series. So, if he seems a lot like Mello, or even Near, right now, don't worry. He'll turn out.


	2. Someone Like Me

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Death Note, _or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 2: **Someone Like Me

**A/N: **Ah, Wammy's House. Things start to kind of tie into the series in this chapter. I'll be working on chapter three this week, although I have classes, but I'll find time to get some writing done. Writing is an excellent way to pass time, after all. Well, enjoy this chapter, and please review. :]

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When I first arrived at Wammy's House, I was less than excited, to say the least. I felt dead inside; a feeling that I had never before experienced or understood. Although I felt a sense of relief at having escaped a part of my past, I still wanted nothing more than to be loved and praised by my parents. Nothing, I thought, would ever be able to remove the scar upon my heart for as long as I were still alive and breathing.

Even after a year, I still had no idea as to the identity of the man who had shot down my parents. This fact was more than enough to haunt me, but my dread and hatred of him was further fueled by my deep sense of loneliness and despair. There would be no way I could ever forgive him, I had decided. There was nothing he could give, no pain he could suffer, nothing he could say that would bring me to forgive him for what he had done.

As Mr. Wammy led me inside the institution, he introduced me to several children who also resided at Wammy's House. I failed to acknowledge any of them, due to my fatigue from the trip to England, and it seemed that none of them wanted anything to do with me at all. So, there I was, in a foreign country, in a strange place that would become my home, and nobody, save the staff and Mr. Wammy himself, seemed to care about me at all.

"Now, son," Mr. Wammy said, kneeling down to look me in the eye. "Here at Wammy's house, everyone is given a nickname. It doesn't matter what you choose, so long as it's appropriate. For example, the children and staff here call me 'Watari.'"

I frowned in confusion. "I don't understand. Why can't we just use our real names? Why should we have to hide who we really are?"

Mr. Wammy's eyes widened at this remark. Perhaps he hadn't expected to hear such things from a five-year-old boy, or perhaps he hadn't thought about the possibility of me asking him such questions. Regardless of the reason, he pressed a finger to his lips and whispered, "You've heard of the great detective known as L, have you not?"

I nodded, still puzzled about the whole matter.

"Well, L once lived here in this very building. As you know, he's very famous, and nobody knows who he is, what he looks like, or even what his real name is. You are here, not only because you need a good home, but because you have an amazing talent. Every child in this orphanage has such talents, and each of them is working to become the next L. If anything were to happen to L, then the most talented child here would take his place. Do you understand?"

Having finally understood, I grinned. "I get it," I said. "So, everyone here needs a nickname so that if they take L's place, nobody knows what their real name is."

"That's absolutely right," Mr. Wammy said. "Now, what would you like to be called from now on?"

I thought for a moment. I'd never really had a nickname before, but I had always wanted one. My mother had given me pet names, but never one solid nickname. My father, on the other hand, had occasionally called me "Matt" due to my middle name, which I had been given by my grandfather.

With a grin, I proudly said, "My name is Matt."

Mr. Wammy nodded. "All right, then. Matt it is. Now, let me show you to your room."

As I followed him down the hall, I heard the sound of something heavy hitting the floor. "I _hate _you!!" I heard someone shout from within one of the rooms. Mr. Wammy sighed, setting my things down against the wall by one of the rooms.

"I'll be right back," he said, turning to enter the room. "Mello," I heard him say, "that's enough. You know that I dislike hearing you say things like that."

Poking my head through the doorway, I saw Mr. Wammy kneeling down in front of a screaming blond boy about my age. The boy was clearly upset about something, and was pointing angrily at a white-haired boy sitting on the floor with a set of blocks and a rubber duck, playing quietly.

"But Watari," I heard the blond say, "I _do _hate him. He's always getting all the attention, and stealing my spotlight! I can't stand him!!"

At that moment, I sneezed, alerting Mr. Wammy and the other boys of my presence. The blonde glowered at me angrily, while the white-haired boy looked up at me calmly, stood up, and approached me, a small smile on his face.

"Hello," he said quietly. "My name is Near. Welcome to Wammy's."

I nodded shyly as I stared at the floor. "I'm Matt."

"Hey! Aren't you forgetting someone?" the blond boy demanded, pointing at me. "Are you gonna stare at me like a fool, or are you gonna say something?! Well?!"

In the few minutes I had been at Wammy's, I had only met one child who had actually been kind enough to approach me and welcome me to the orphanage. All the others had quickly run off to play as soon as Mr. Wammy had finished introducing me. But this white-haired boy, this Near, didn't seem to be like the rest of them. He wasn't dressed in playclothes like the rest of the children. Instead, he wore a pair of white pajamas patterned with rubber ducks. I could tell immediately that he was different from the others.

"I'm sorry," Near said. "Mello's just mad right now. He yells at everyone when he's mad, so don't feel bad. He's not upset with you at all."

Having finally calmed Mello down, Mr. Wammy smiled. "Mello, why don't you show Matt to his room? You and he are going to be roommates, after all."

Mello's eyes widened, and he looked up at Mr. Wammy, who simply nodded. With a sigh, Mello grabbed my wrist and led me down the hall, around the corner, and up two flights of stairs to the third floor of the orphanage before he stopped in front of the third door on the right.

"It's right here," he said in a bored tone. "We're in room 309 on the third floor, okay? Think you can memorize that?"

With a frown, I yanked my wrist away and glowerd at him. "Yeah, I got it. I'm not stupid, you know."

Mello smirked and crossed his arms, his blond bangs falling into his face. "Is that right? Well, it's nice knowing I'm not going to be sharing a room with a total idiot. And it looks like you're not a complete sissy, either. You should count yourself lucky, berry-head. If I were having a really bad day, then you'd be on the ground for talking to me like that."

The way this Mello kid talked to me was annoying, and before I had though twice about it, I had closed my eyes and thrown my fist into his face with as much force as my five-year-old body could muster. I heard a thud, and when I opened my eyes, Mello was on the floor with a bloody nose. His eyes were wide, and, for a moment, he actually looked scared.

For a minute, I felt strong, powerful. I felt like I could take on the world. But this feeling was short-lived, for Mello had gotten up and pinned me to the wall while I basked in my moment of glory. He grabbed me by the shirt, holding me against the wall as he glared at me.

"You've got guts, I'll give you that," he snarled, wiping his face with his free hand. "But nobody smacks me around and gets away with it. You got that?!"

He raised his fist over his head, bringing it down with as much force as he could. I clamped my eyes shut and flinched into the wall, hoping that I would be able to avoid the blow somehow. I waited, but the pain never came. I opened my eyes out of curiosity, and, to my surprise, saw Near hanging onto Mello's sleeve.

"You're not supposed to beat up on people, Mello," Near said calmly. "Especially not on the new kid. He might end up being tougher than you. If that were to happen, I'd hate to see what he might do to you. But it looks like he's already gotten the better of you."

Mello turned to Near and growled, shoving me once more before letting me go. "You need to shut up, Near," he shot back.

"And you need to learn some self-control."

With a grimace, Mello turned his back on Near and grabbed me by the wrist once more. "Come on, Matt," he said, opening the door to our room. "Let's get your stuff unpacked."

Once inside the room, I couldn't help staring. To me, the room was enormous. Far bigger and nicer than my room had been at the orphanage in Los Angeles. There were two beds, two windows, a good-sized television set, an alarm clock, two dressers, two bookshelves, and two nightstands. Without thinking, I walked to the bed on the left and threw my bags down on top of the blankets.

"Hey! That's my bed." I turned around to see that Mello pointed to a clean bed on the opposite side of the room. "That's yours," he said. "You're allowed to decorate your side of the room any way you want. If there's anything special that you'd like, then you need to talk to Watari or Roger."

I nodded, and began unzipping my backpack. I pulled out a pillow and a few of my stuffed animals, placing them gently on the bed with a smile. Unzipping the other pockets of my backpack, I withdrew several video games, collectible figures, and books, mostly manga, and placed them on the well-sized bookshelf that sat on the left of my nightstand.

_Maybe,_ I thought, _this won't be so bad after all. I could learn to like it here. _

As I began pulling posters from my poster tube, I heard Mello snickering behind me. "What the hell is _that?!" _he scoffed, pointing at my bed.

"What's what?" I asked with a shrug. "Is something wrong with my bed?"

Still snickering, Mello hopped up onto my bed and grabbed my bear. "This old thing," he laughed, tugging on its arms. "What's a kid your age doing with a stupid bear like this?"

With a scowl, I jumped up onto my bed, grabbed my bear, and shoved Mello to the floor. "Shut up!" I shouted. "I don't know what your problem is, but I'm already tired of you making fun of me! If you're gonna keep doing this to me, then I'll just go ask if I can change rooms!"

For a minute, Mello looked as though he might cry. Instead, he turned his back on me and stayed on the floor. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"Why should I believe you?" I demanded. "I haven't even been here a day, and you're already making me wish I could leave."

He sighed heavily. "It's not that I hate you," he said. "It's just..."

"Just what?"

"It's just that I have a hard time talking to people. And it's all their fault."

Carefully placing my bear back against my pillow, I hopped off my bed and sat down beside Mello. "Whose fault?"

"My parents," he replied, looking at me with a lukewarm grin. "I'll never know for sure, but I don't think they ever really loved me. I think that's why they left me behind. Because.... because they couldn't be bothered with me any longer."

_He's.... He's like me,_ I thought. _He's alone, too. _

"What happened to them?"

"They died," he said sadly. "Both of them. I don't know how, but they went together. That was two years ago. Right after I turned four. But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe they didn't mean to die and leave me all alone. Maybe... Maybe it was just an accident."

Although I didn't know it then, Mello and I would be like brothers from that moment on. We would be the best of friends, always watching the other's back, and waiting to find our place in the world. We would live together, and we would die together as brothers.

Finally, I had found someone like me.

* * *

And there you have it. Matt and Mello, brothers and best friends till the end. In case you guys haven't figured it out, Matt's five-years-old at this point, Mello's six, and Near is four. If you're wondering how I came up with their ages, just look up Matt, Mello, and Near on wikipedia or something. Mello was born in 1989, Matt in 1990, and Near in 1991. Speaking of which, Matt's birthday is the first of February. So, happy early birthday, Matt. :] Thanks for reading, and please leave a review!


	3. Happy Birthday, Matt

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Death Note, _or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 3: **Happy Birthday, Matt

**A/N:** In case you don't know, Matt's birthday is February 1, 1990. I thought I might include that little detail here for those of you that didn't know that. That way, you won't be confused, and I won't be getting emails and reviews that ask what day Matt's birthday is.

* * *

From the moment I met Near and Mello, I knew that the two were going to constantly be butting heads. That fact alone wasn't too hard to figure out, what with the way they talked to and caused problems for each other. Personally, I saw Near as being the more level-headed of the two. Mello, on the other hand, was constantly on high alert when Near was around. I continued to monitor their behavioral patterns around each other for the next two years.

It was about six months after Mello and I became friends that I began immersing myself in games and novels more than I ever had in my young life. To me, gaming was a way to escape from the constant pain that haunted me. It also served as an excellent distraction when Mello and Near were jumping at each others throats. To me, it was best to stay out of it, and just allow them to continue their spats until one of them gave in.

Sadly, the one who caved first was always Mello. And he _hated _that.

I'm sure that those who knew me always wondered where and how I got my goggles. Well, it's not as elaborate of a story as some might think. I heard ridiculous rumors about myself from the very first day I arrived, so the numerous goggles rumors weren't a big deal. Nor were they very surprising.

My goggle fad started when I was about eight years old.

"Hey, Matt! Get up!"

_Mello...?_ _Go away! _I thought.

I rolled over in bed so that my back was facing Mello. Now, to Mello, turning your back on him while he's talking to you is a sign of ignorance and disrespect. Both are things he can't stand. Especially when he thinks they're directed at him. At this time in my life, I didn't know that ignoring him was one of his pet peeves, simply because I had never ignored him before. But that morning, I wanted nothing more than for him to get the fuck away so I could sleep.

Moments later, I felt Mello jump up onto my bed, and, before I knew it, I found myself falling out of bed. I hit the floor with a thud, and Mello's laughter rang in my ears along with the heavy pounding of my heart. It was only to be expected. Mello laughed whenever something "amusing" happened to someone, and, even as his best friend, I was clearly no exception to this fact.

"Yo, Matt! Get your butt up!" he shouted, pulling the blankets off me as I sat up.

I rubbed my eyes and brushed my rust red hair out of my eyes. "What do you want?" I muttered sleepily. "I'm freakin' tired, man."

Mello merely grinned and, like he had done the first day we met, grabbed me by the wrist and led me down the hall, still in my pajamas. Dazed as I was, I had no idea exactly where he was taking me, and frankly, I didn't care as long as I could go back to sleep afterward. Just as I was dozing off, Mello lurched to a stop. The motion caused me to bolt upright to find that I was standing in front of Watari's office.

"What are we doing here, Mel?"

He shot me that trademark grin once again. "Stay here," he said, opening the door just enough to get inside. "I'll be right back."

I leaned against the wall, trying as hard as I could to keep from falling asleep. Minutes passed, and I grew tired of waiting. I slumped against the wall and allowed myself to slide to the floor. Just as I started to nod off, Mello came dashing out the doors, a box in hand.

"Here," he said, shoving the box into my chest. "Open it."

Mello's act of generosity caught me off guard. In the two years that I had known him, I'd never seen him do something like this for anyone. Not even once. Usually, if Mello were to give someone something, it was usually part of one of his elaborate pranks. Because of that fact, I was rather hesitant about opening the box at all, for I feared that I would become the next victim of one of Mello's infamous pranks.

But the longer I stood there, the more Mello seemed to watch me. Clearly, he wanted me to open the box, and it was obvious that, until I did, he would not stop staring me down. Reluctantly, I set the box in front of me on the floor, and swiftly removed the lid, holding it in front of my face so to shield myself from any possible attack from within the box.

"What are you doing?" Mello smacked the lid out of my reach. "Just open it!"

With a sigh, I reached inside the box and, to my surprise, pulled out a pair of goggles instead of, what I had expected to be, water balloons. My eyes went wide and I could only stare up at Mello in shock. Hundreds of questions were flying through my head. How did he know where do find them? How did he know this was what I wanted?

"Well?" Mello grinned, slapping me on the back. "What do you think? It took months for me to find them, but, as you can clearly see, I got them. Happy Birthday, Matt."

I sat there, stunned, with the goggles still in my hand. They were perfect! Gray rims with yellow-orange lenses. The only possible set for me. Of course, it might seem a little odd that, as an eight-year-old boy, I wanted a specific pair of goggles for my birthday. But to me, those goggles were a part of who and what I would become. Without a word, Mello grabbed the goggles from my hand, and put them on my head, snapping the elastic band against the back of my skull while he was at it.

As any child does when they obtain something of their greatest desire, I sat there in the hallway, still in disbelief that I was really awake and living through this moment. Aside from having my parents returned to me, I had wanted this simple pair of goggles more than anything else in the world. And since my parents had been forever taken from me, at that point, I had obtained the object that had been the greatest desire of my little eight-year-old heart.

"Matt!"

I turned to see Near padding down the hall towards me in sock feet and a pair of red race car pajamas. As per his usual, albeit odd, habit, he had twirled some of his white hair around one of his fingers as he moved. With his free hand, he carried a shoddily wrapped package that had been decorated with a large number of duck stickers. Clearly, Near's favorite animal. He sat down next to me, blatantly ignoring the nasty death glare Mello was throwing his way.

Without another word, Near dropped the package in my lap. Glancing at it, I saw that Near had scrawled "To Matt, From Near" across the wrapping paper with a large red marker. Feeling Near's anxious gaze on me, I tore into the package and found a small cardboard box about the size of a VHS tape. I tore the tape from the flaps of the box, and pulled a red Game Boy Color, clad in bubble wrap, from the box.

Near, having seen the shock on my face, smiled. "You seem to enjoy games a lot, so I took a guess and hoped you'd like it. You... do like it, don't you?"

I nodded slowly, having no idea how to express my thanks to either of my friends.

"Oh!" Near shoved a hand into his pocket and pulled out what looked to be three colored game cards. The Yellow, Blue, and Red versions of Pokemon. "I had no idea where to find these, so I just asked Watari if he might be able to locate them for me. They've been used before, but I hope you don't mind."

Before I new what had happened, Mello had grabbed the Game Boy Color from me, and kicked the box, sending the games flying down the hall. "He doesn't give a damn what you've done, Near. So quit showing off before I beat the tar out of you!" Mello shouted, tossing the Game Boy to me as he grabbed Near by the collar of his pajama shirt. "Have you ever wondered what would happen to your clothes if they were stained with your own blood?"

It seemed that even Near hadn't foreseen this, as he was struggling to fight off Mello. His attempts, however, failed miserably. Mello tightened his grip on Near's clothing, pressing his fist against Near's throat in an attempt to cut off his breathing. As an eight-year-old, I was, frankly, shocked to see that Mello knew that suffocation was a sure-fire way to kill someone. And judging by the feral look in my friend's eyes, he was certainly prepared, not to mention willing, to take out Near.

Now, before I continue, I have the need to make something perfectly clear. I have never really been the violent type. Those who know me, or know who I am at least, know that I thoroughly enjoy video games and manga. Now, one of the reasons I enjoy these activities is that, from the time I was small, they have served me well as an outlet for anger and other negative emotions. Not to mention the fact that I was an only child.

Anyway...

The last thing I wanted was for Mello to be kicked out of the orphanage for murder, so I hopped onto his back, put my goggles on him, pulled, and let them fly. There was a very distinct SMACK that echoed through the hall as I released the goggles, and Mello screamed in pain, letting Near drop to the floor. Not wishing for Mello to break my goggles (or my face), I grabbed them, and ran down the hallway towards Mr. Rogers' office, hoping that he'd be able to stop Mello's rampage.

As I ran, I could hear Mello coming up behind me. "Matt!" he screamed. "You're dead!"

When I finally reached the door, I grabbed the knob and turned. But to my dismay, the door was locked, and Mello was closing in. I banged desperately on the door, hoping that someone would come to my rescue. I turned my head to see Mello flying at me, and I crouched down and covered my head, hoping that my death would come quickly.

I've no idea how long I sat there, but when I opened my eyes, I saw Watari holding Mello firmly by the wrist, a stern look in his kind old eyes as he looked disapprovingly at my friend. He turned to me, placed a hand on my head, and smiled gently.

"Happy Birthday, son."

* * *

Honestly, with all the delays I've had recently, I never thought I'd get this chapter done. XD But contrary to my beliefs, it is finished! And in case you're wondering, Matt's games and Game Boy Color are safe. XD The funny thing is, I could actually see all of this happening (in anime format) as I wrote it. Oh, the joys of one's imagination. Please review, and Happy Easter!


	4. A Hell Within The Mind

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Death Note, _or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 4: **A Hell Within The Mind

**A/N:** It's been a while since I updated this, but I got busy and distracted. It happens to all of us.

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The most horrific dream of my life was, surprisingly, enough to cause me to wake up in a fit of screams and tears. The weird thing is, I've never really been one to cry. Not even when I was a kid. But that horrible dream was burned into my skull when I was about eleven. It was sometime in July, I think, and it had been raining for several days with no sign of letting up. Having always been partial to staying indoors, I didn't pay the rain much attention at all. I just sat in my room and relaxed with some games and magazines, completely ignoring the homework I had been assigned the previous day.

All I had been thinking about that week was my parents, and what my life would have been like if they had miraculously survived that fateful night. I imagined myself growing up with a brother or maybe a sister to keep me company, attending a public school and making friends, and just going through life the way kids with parents did. But the more I thought on it, the more I hated the bastard who had taken my parents from me. He had taken away my childhood, forcing me to step over the threshold into adulthood at a tender young age.

And I resented that more than you can ever imagine. After a few days of thinking on it, I became angry and bitter. And I wanted nothing to do with the world in which I found myself. Not even Mello could pull me out of the abyss of self-destruction that I had so willingly slipped into.

"Quit being such a prick," he'd said, smacking me in the head. "You've been a real pain lately. It's not like you, Matt. What the hell's your problem?"

I didn't need to say anything to justify my punching him in the jaw. Mello had had it coming with his constant nagging. "Shove off!" I shot back, pinning him to the floor. "Is it really that difficult for you to understand, Mello? Can you really not see that I don't want anything to do with you?"

He simply spat blood at me and flipped me into the wall with a good kick to the gut. "Shut up, jackass!" Before I could even grasp the situation, I found myself being pressed against the wall with Mello's arm shoved up against my throat. "You think you're the only one with issues? Everyone in this damned place is just like you! We're all without parents or family members who can be bothered to love and take care of us! So don't you dare go around treating me like crap just because you're pissed off!"

Mello gave me another kick for good measure before storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him. I sat up against the wall, trying to shove his words out of my head. I knew he was right, but I didn't care. After living in Hell for eight years, starting from the time I was only three, I'd finally reached the edge of the cliff. I was ready to jump over the edge in order to escape the pain and darkness that had lingered at my heels for so long.

But something held me back. Something within the deepest reaches of my heart told me that I still had a ways to go before I reached the end of the road called "life." It was then that I turned my back on the darkness, deciding to create a light with which I would make out the direction of my path. I would not be hindered by the ghosts of my past. I would relinquish all holds I had upon that terrible night that sent me plunging into the depths of Hell and despair.

I would fight the darkness, and I would conquer it.

Two more years passed, and I found myself going through the "joy" that is called "junior high." I was swamped with more classwork than ever before, and as brilliant as I was, and having been named as the third in line to succeed the world-renowned detective known as L, the assignments were giving me Hell. I had less and less time to myself, and I steadily began to resent my teachers, as well as the work itself.

But the day finally came where few of us in orphanage would feel a horribly familiar sensation that we only wished we could forget: Pain. Along with the pain came a bit of shocking news that no one at Wammy's had been expecting: L and Mr. Watari had died. The news, which came to us by way of Mr. Roger in early November of 2004, dealt a blow to myself, Near, and Mello, as well. When news reached the three of us, we were specifically instructed to keep our mouths shut on the matter, so to avoid causing any problems.

It was around that time that Mello abandoned the orphanage. And me, as well.

"Where are you going?" I demanded as he packed his bags late one night. "You know we're not supposed to be out in the halls after 10:30."

Mello glared at me and continued packing his things. "Screw the rules, Matt. And as for where I'm going, I'm not entirely sure yet. But I'll find someplace to belong. Just you wait and see."

Well, his response had answered my question (kind of), but it didn't tell my why he was leaving. And I suppose that that was what I was really interested in. Especially after all the times Mello had told me that all he had in the world was here at Wammy's. Maybe it had something to do with L's untimely death?

"Why are you leaving?" The words popped out of my mouth before I could stop them. "Is it because of L?"

I watched as he narrowed his eyes at me, pulling on his signature black leather coat and slinging his bag over his shoulder. "That's part of it, Matt," he said, crossing the room and taking a seat at the foot of my bed. He stared at the floor for a moment before continuing. "But it's mainly because of Near."

Near? Mello wasn't making much sense. I didn't understand what Near really had to do with L's death. It wasn't as if he'd been responsible for our idol's demise. Surely, that was Kira's doing. As Kira's name popped into my head, I felt a strong pang of guilt. Here I had sat for the past few months, knowing that Kira was the one to be credited for killing the man who murdered my parents. And although I had known that Kira's actions were evil, I still revered him for killing that man. But now, I was forced to accept the fact that Kira was truly evil. His killing of the man who took my parents from me had only been a fluke.

"You've got some explaining to do, Mello."

"L never chose his successor before he died," Mello said, getting straight to the point. "Roger suggested that Near and I take up L's mantle, if you will, but I refused him. I can't work with Near. I've never been able to. Everything he does drives me insane, and I know nothing would get done. So, I've decided to leave Wammy's. I'll go out on my own, and surpass Near. I'll capture Kira before he can even blink."

I watched a smile cross Mello's face, and I could tell that he was being completely serious. A part of me longed to go with him, while another part told me to stay at Wammy's and wait. Wait for what? Of that, I wasn't even sure. But, in my mind, waiting just felt right.

"In that case, I'll stay here," I said. "I'll be your inside source of information. With your brains and my skills, you're sure to bring Near to his knees when you capture Kira."

Mello's eyes widened, but his look of shock was soon replaced by a grateful smile. "No, Matt," he said. "It's not all about me anymore. It's about us. It's like you said yourself, Matt. We're brothers. And brothers share the credit. So, when Near falls, it will be _our_ victory. A victory over both Near and Kira."

Before I could express my thanks, or even wish him luck, Mello darted out of the room and down the hall. I jumped out of bed, closed the door, and rushed to the window, knowing that I'd be able to see him as he left both me and Wammy's behind. Even through the heavy rain that pounded against my window, I could still make out Mello's leather-clad form as he ran through the gates of Wammy's, never once turning to look back.

That was the last time I'd see my brother for a while.

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I'm not sure yet, but chapter 5 or 6 will, most likely, be the final chapter in Matt's story. I might add an epilogue, but I'm not sure about that yet, either. Anyway, I hope you've enjoyed this chapter. And, once again, sorry for the long wait. Please favorite and review. :)


	5. Midnight Runner

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Death Note, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 5: **Midnight Runner

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After he left, I didn't hear from Mello for months.

It was pathetic for a boy my age, a boy almost fourteen, to run to the offices each afternoon in hopes that there would be a letter. I'd enjoyed them once, the magazines, but all I cared about was knowing if my brother had survived. He'd only written to me once, about three weeks after he'd gone away. He'd told me that he'd mangaged to make it to the States and take down a big-time crime boss in Los Angeles. The gang, the name of which he neglected to mention, was all his own, and the members were afraid of him.

It wasn't surprising. Mello was ambitious, even relentless, when it came to getting what he wanted. He'd never let rules stop him.

I didn't see why the law would be able to keep a hold on him, either.

He'd given me a number to call in that letter, one that I'd dialed many times. Only once had there been an answer, and the voice of, what I assumed to be, a hardened criminal reached through the receiver. I'd chosen my words carefully, trying to hide the fact that my voice was cracking. He didn't seem to notice, and, when I told him that I was a business associate of his boss, he said that calls weren't being taken, and hung up.

I couldn't figure out why Mello wouldn't be taking my calls. We'd agreed to be partners in our search for Kira; that we'd take him down before Near could draw meaningful breath.

In truth, I never had a personal grudge against Near. I just hated the way he made Mello crazy; the way he'd always one-up him, even if unintentional. How could I not care? I'd never had famiily, let alone anyone to confide in. Mello, although by mistake, had given me that.

Being relatively close to Near, at least in terms of position and capability, there were times when I was asked to give him input on the case. I was never turned down, no matter what suspicions I voiced. Instead, he'd take them into consideration, drawing further conclusions from there. Other times, he'd explain why mine weren't probable, and then calmly explain the flaws in my reasoning. He never told me no, or said that I was a fool for believing what I had. Near would just smile, and take it all in stride.

Three days after my fourteenth birthday, something came. A package in the mail, wrapped tightly in brown paper. Inside was a pre-paid phone and a note that instructed me to use the device solely for the purpose of capturing Kira. I didn't need to see the name to know that it was from Mello.

That's when I decided that Near, who treated me like a friend and an equal, would have to take second to Mello.

Every piece of information I gathered over the next six months was sent to the States, whether by phone, which was answered by Mello's cronies, or by mail. He hadn't given me specifics in regards to postage, but I came up with a false name for him, one that those at the orphanage wouldn't recognize, and created cryptic letters with which to communicate the information. That way, if someone intercepted it, they'd think it was just a kid's joke.

When Christmas came, all communication stopped again.

Eagerly, I waited, wondering if he'd even received my letters. I never got anything in return, and, at one point, my package was sent back, stating on the envelope that the designated address didn't exist. It was then that I really began to worry.

But I kept on with aiding Near, throwing out ideas that I knew were wrong. I have no idea if he knew the difference, but, if he did, he never let on. But, knowing that mind of his, he had me figured out. Maybe he was just playing us to see who would catch Kira first. I guess I started to hate his confidence, too.

Sixteen rolled around, followed far too swiftly by seventeen, then eighteen. There was little that went on in those years aside from my "helping" Near in his Kira investigation from time to time. I grew tired of it, which was just as well. I'd be leaving the orphanage soon, as most of us did at that age. But it wasn't terrible in the slightest. I knew where I would go, what I would do with my life. I'd get as far away from Britain as I could, keep contact with none of my childhood friends. I'd go to Los Angeles, make a name for myself, and find out what was taking Mello so damn long.

But I realized that I couldn't wait much longer.

I took what I had and packed, slipping out my window in the dead of night. It made me remeber what Mello had done, leaving like he did. He hadn't told anyone either. He hadn't wanted anyone to stop him. Of course I'd do the same. We were partners in our childhood, and we would be brothers in arms as soon as I found him.

Since I followed his example, that made me a runner, too.

I took the first plane I could find to the States. First to New York, then Dallas, Albuquerque, and finally Los Angeles. I imagine it looked strange for an eighteen-year-old in a fur-lined vest to be walking off a plane on his own. People watched me as if I were the shady one, when they wandered around with some of the strangest clothing I'd ever seen. Maybe the rumors I'd heard were true. Maybe everyone in Los Angeles was trying to be a film star.

That paper, the one with the address, was kept close from the day I'd received it. Tucked tightly away in my wallet, it was far more valuable to me than any of the money I carried. Money was easy enough to come by. If I lost those digits, I'd never find Mello, and we'd never take Kira's head.

I had to drastically overpay a cab driver just to get him to head into that district of the city, the one that, the man claimed, was home to the worst sort of gangs. He'd warned me, and I had ignored him. For all I knew, my brother was the head of the lot of them. I just wanted to make sure that no one had taken him out. If they had, I'd be stranded in the States with nothing.

The address took me to a rusted warehouse, one that the cab driver said was used as a storehouse by the drug cartel. He'd also said that, once I stepped out of his cab, I was on my own. I didn't care. So far as any of these gangsters knew, I was one of them. And I was. Not by blood, but by bonds. They couldn't kill me.

He was gone before I knew it, leaving me no choice but to head right into the den of beasts. It creaked, the door, some of the rust flaking off as I shoved it aside. It was a pretty empty place, save for the number of large wooden crates, with a hatch in the floor. So I followed it, yanking the handle before dropping myself, and my bad, down into the hole.

A metal grate served as the floor in this bunker, greeting me with a clang. The bag was slung over my shoulder, one hand in my pocket as I followed the maze-like halls. Chains clinked overhead as I walked beneath them, sometimes slapping me in the face. I remember cursing whatever idiot had left them hanging there. Another door soon came upon me, half open and spilling warm light over my boots.

That's when I saw him, hunched over and alone in that room, surrounded by beat-up old furniture and broken bottles, a hooded coat hanging over his head.

"You're late, Matt. You were supposed to come as soon as you got my call."

I didn't know what he meant. Mello had never told me to come to Los Angeles, let alone called. I'd gone to the States of my own accord. It didn't make sense that he'd talk down to me as if I'd done something wrong.

"You _didn't _call," I said. "Not once. You didn't call, and you didn't take mine. My last set of data didn't even make it because you changed your base of operations. They sent it back." I dropped the bag, knocking it over so that the package, and a bound stack of papers, slipped out. Picking it up, I scowled, throwing it across the room. "That's what you wanted. All of Near's babbling about your precious Kira."

"Don't talk about that little bastard." He stood then, still keeping his head down. "Near, and the rest of that damned orphanage. They're all dead to me."

The rest of the orphanage. I'd only just been there, which was what lead me to believe that I was included in that statement. I could have walked out; I could have said something, anything, that would indicate that I was finished; I could have just cried, had I wanted to. Instead, I just stood there, thinking. It must have included me. He hadn't upheld his part of our bargain in the slightest. He hadn't made a move to get me out of that place; to ensure that I'd never have to see those walls again; to get me to the States so that we could hunt Kira.

He'd done it all himself. The evidence was there when he looked at me.

Some sort of accident that had left him marred, angrier than before. Somehow, someone had outsmarted him, the second in line to be L's heir. And I could tell that he hated it. I was trying to decide if it was Near's fault, his idea of a game, but it couldn't have been. Near wasn't cruel like the mafia. He wouldn't go this far. He'd just sit in his chair and play with toys that were made for children. That's just how he was.

It must have been Kira. That was the only other explanation. Kira had forced Mello's hand, probably days before I had shown up. Now he was marked, and he was more than just hellbent on taking the killer's head.

I just stood there, quietly at first, before shaking my head at him.

"You damned idiot."


	6. Shapes Like Stars

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Death Note, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 6: **Shapes Like Stars

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Eventually, we caught wind of a rumor that a young man called "N" was stationed in Washingon D.C., and Mello went to investigate while I remained in Los Angeles to trail a few persons of interest. The two of us split up so it would seem less suspicious. In a sense, we were terrorists, seeking the life of the world's best-known murderer as well as his young pursuer. We didn't dare bring "L" into the equation. Mello had said that "L" was probably Kira. Or rather, the man claiming to be L.

It would be too risky if we were seen together. Two shady guys like us would draw extra attention.

We kept in contact over the course of three days via cell phone. I didn't let this Misa Amane out of my sight for a minute. She was a pretty little thing, spunky too, wandering around with one of the men from the Japanese Task Force, one Mr. Mogi. It was best, Mello had said, that I keep close tabs on her and record everything, be it by pen and paper or camera. He was confident that this woman would be able to do something for us.

It was only when I asked that he told me: Aside from Near, the one we were after was Light Yagami.

An unusual name, and not one I was familiar with. But several internet searches led me to a series of Japanese websites with photos, some stating that he had been a champion tennis player in junior high, while others said that he was Japan's top-scoring student while in high school. That was when it became clear to me. This Light Yagami had something to do with this, as his father had been one of the higher-ups in the Japanese police force.

But that's all I gathered, and Mello wouldn't say anymore.

So I followed her, the strange, childish woman. Maybe, if there weren't rumors circling about her being engaged, and if I hadn't been working a case, I'd have taken a sincere interest in her.

I'd never really been lonely, just alone. A little melancholy, perhaps, but never empty. But then, watching her, I wondered how much longer this was going to go on. I wondered if we'd really be able to catch Kira; if we'd outdo Near; if I'd live long enough to do the things that most men had the chance to do. I've never been sentimental, but I can't deny that I've thought about it. Marriage. But, at that point, it just wasn't my most pressing priority. I'd promised myself that I'd get through this. That Mello and I would finish what we'd started.

I was going to stick with it.

Still, I was pretty shaken from Mello's story. He'd been forced to blow up the whole of his hideout just to escape the Japanese Task Force. It had been a successful venture, killing Soichiro Yagami, but he'd lost the Death Note, and our physical evidence with it. Just when we had been ahead of Near, everything had crumbled beneath our feet.

That's why we'd been reduced to grunt work, to eavesdropping on and stalking our targets. We didn't have cronies from the mafia to order around anymore. The Task Force had seen to that. They'd singled us out as the enemy, rather than going after Kira. Mello had said that that alone was reason enough for him to believe that Kira was among them. Had anyone else been heading the Task Force, they wouldn't have dared to oppose even a part of the American mafia. I don't how much of that was true, especially the bit about the mob, but I believed him.

Why would I have doubted him? He'd never lied to me before.

In fact, he'd watched out out for me at the orphanage. That's why I'd put my life on the line for this. He'd given me a part of a life I never could have known. A brother. I just wanted to return the favor. I wanted to make sure that he got what he deserved. And if that meant taking out Near so that Mello could be L's rightful heir, I'd do it gladly.

In the days that followed, there was little contact. He'd phoned me to say that information had been syphoned out of one of Near's agents, but that was it. He'd made mention that he'd be returning to Los Angeles the next day, and that, from there, we'd go to Japan for the final stage of our plan.

That same night, as I listened to Ms. Amane squeal about a board game in her hotel room, I couldn't help noticing the sky for the first time. I'd never really looked at it. It had just been there the whole time, the canvas upon which some higher being had painted the sun and the birds. It was dark, vast, speckled with stars. That's when I remembered them, the paper shapes. I'd had a fondness for them as a little boy, making them with my mother before she died. They were colorful, never white. I think I'd told her that I liked the bright paper more. I think... she smiled.

I wondered if, somehow, she could see me; see what I was doing with my life. I wondered if she was pleased with me, or if I'd done things to make her cry. I hoped, with everything, that it was the former. I'd never seen her cry, but the thought certainly wasn't comforting. I wanted to say that she _was _one of those stars, looking upon earth from the heavens, beaming down at me.

I don't know how, but I had this dreadful feeling in my gut that night. Something that told me I wouldn't see those stars again.


	7. Curves and Lines

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Death Note, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 7: **Curves and Lines

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The day is January 26, 2010. I don't know what will happen after today, but I hope that the outcome is favorable for us. We've worked hard to get this far, and we can't turn back. It's come down to a matter of all or nothing.

Even so, I have confidence in this plan.

We will find Kiyomi Takada, and we will kidnap her. Mello has evidence that she is in close contact with Kira. As our hostage, she'll have to tell us everything. If she doesn't, I'm afraid to say that we will be resorting to drastic measures. The information this woman holds within is what we need. With it, we will know Kira's identity, and how he kills. Although, I have reason to believe that Mello still hasn't told me everything. I suspect he already knows of the latter. Why he hasn't told me, I don't know. Perhaps it was to keep my attention focused on surveillance?

We're close. I can feel it. After today, Kira will be ours, and Near will be rendered obsolete. I just hope that he doesn't hold this against me, his defeat. If he does, then so be it. My allegiances lie with my family.

I saw the stars again last night, even after I thought that I wouldn't. They were perfect, pristine, like a crisp photograph. But they were real, seemingly alive. Maybe the dead do move onto something better than this. Maybe our world is the only truly tangible thing in this universe. That is to say, maybe there's something more after death. Maybe we have the joy, the adventure, of soaring among a sea of stars until we find our place among them. I hope that's what waits. If it is, then I have to say that I'm more than a little eager to die.

Maybe then I'll see my mother again.

I hope she can see this, read it. I hope she knows that I've done everything I felt was right, that I let no one sway me. I think that's what she would have wanted. I think she'd be proud of me.

With this as my last piece in this diary, I have to say that I hope someone finds this someday. I don't care if someone reads this and sees me as someone that I'm not. For all they know, I'm the man standing next to them at the bus stop, or the bestselling author operating under a penname. It doesn't matter if people know my face, my voice. At the very least, what they will know is that I've put a piece of myself, of my heart, onto each page, and in each bit of ink. They may look to be something silly, a waste, scratched out on paper by a boy with nothing left.

I have no idea what waits for me, what will become of us during this operation. But, no matter the outcome, I leave this book behind. It would be strange for someone my age to tow around a diary for the rest of his life.

Whoever you are, maybe you'll read my memories of the past as a sad tale. I just hope you read it.


End file.
